It’s all the same.
It’s always the same.
The grief inside becomes an ache as I
Pull on my face for you, as I
Breathe in this same stale air.
Our lungs are just drenched in it.
All the same,
Oh so dull.
The fed-up feeling
That tugs at my core.
Screaming for fresh blood, new scenery,
A fleeting landscape as we sail across miles. Away.
It all stays the same, but
This tears and it wretches
Gashing new holes, struggling to depart.
Every day a series of disappointing
So secure. So safe.
But does safety breed satisfaction?
It can’t stay the same.
I rip it apart myself.
And the trail of destruction is the most obscenely,
Deliciously different thing I have ever torn from within.